


Tiger Lilies

by LouRea (MementoVitae)



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02
Genre: Bittersweet, Character study on digimon experiencing the loss of their partners, Cross-Post, Gen, Ghosts in the Machine, Grief/Mourning, Memory Horror, Post-Season/Series 02, Tragedy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25293589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MementoVitae/pseuds/LouRea
Summary: A human lifespan is an adventure, but much like the adventures in the digital world, they end. What becomes of a digimon left behind?
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was completed for the first time last Saturday 8 years ago. It was the first fic I wrote after I moved away from home, and it’s about a lot of things that have since taken center stage in my writing. But most of all I think it was about my feelings toward growing up and arriving at ‘adulthood’. 
> 
> Funny that canon has been tackling the same thing in the last couple of years.  
> Anyway, I’ve left it mostly unchanged. It's rough and slightly dusty, but I'm still pretty proud of it even after so many years. Enjoy.

_The children grow, while we stay the same_. –Tailmon.

The sky of the real world was dreary. The clouds hung dark and heavy, but the rains simply refused to come. The smokestacks belched greasy smoke into the sky above the digidestined. None of them spoke, though they grouped together as a subconscious means of supporting one another. And yet, their togetherness made it all the more clear that there was someone missing.

The family came out holding the ashes. Sora approached them solemnly with a bouquet of tiger lilies carefully chosen for colors closer to pink and violet than red. She had been the first to stop crying, but now the tears returned, traversing the lines and wrinkles that marked the many years since the adventure that had brought them together in 1999.

She held out the lilies in her trembling hands. "For Mimi."

* * *

Tachikawa Mimi was not the first chosen child to die, though she was among the first to die of those complications born of old age. The very first death of a chosen child was debatable. Some asserted that Oikawa was the very first, but most agreed that his death was non-standard. After all, he had used what remained of his life to restore the digital world. The first normal death had come forty-some years ago, when the original chosen children were still in their late twenties. A teenage boy from Greece had died while he and his partner were trying to save their friends from collapsing buildings during an earthquake. He ended up buried under rubble himself. His partner managed to dig him out, but had no idea what to do beyond that and the boy had died in transit, leaving behind a wailing Drimogemon. After the boy's funeral, the forlorn digimon had gone back to the digital world, never to be heard from again.

At first, digimon had reacted to this sudden awareness of their partner's mortality much the same way humans would. Some became angry, others gave up entirely. Most became clingy with their partners and hostile to strangers. They understood that all things died, but for them, it was a harsh reality to accept. Until they themselves died, they would be forced to carry on without their partners, and a digimon could live…forever, if they were careful. For some time, human-digimon relations were strained. It took the irrepressible forward march of time before digimon came to accept it. Around the world, digimon partners became docile again, content to love and watch over their beloved partners to whatever end would come.

Strangely, the change happened almost overnight.

* * *

_Hey, hey, did you hear?_

The sky of the digital world was nothing like that of the real world. It was almost oppressively bright, but Palmon stared into the sky anyway. Her leaves were wrinkled and dry and brown near the edges. She couldn't remember how many days it'd been since she laid down in the grass and began to wait.

_Eh? Isn't that just a rumor?_

All she could remember was the last time she saw Mimi. She was lying in her hospital bed; a shadow of her former self that Palmon would have immediately turned from if not for that energetic spark in her eyes and the cowboy hat resting in her lap. Those things irrevocably linked her to the Mimi Palmon had waited for as a child digimon.

_All you have to do is…_

Mimi's mind had started to deteriorate shortly after turning sixty-two. At first, it seemed like simple senility, but by the time she was sixty-four, it was obvious something was wrong with her. By sixty-seven she was under hospice care. She wrote her will when she was sixty-five, and died before her sixty-eighth birthday.

_I don't know. It seems kinda…_

Palmon saw her two weeks ago, though the memory remained so fresh she could believe it might have happened just that morning. Whether it was a blessing or a curse, Mimi had not forgotten Palmon at all as she worsened. Certainly, she could not remember isolated events, nor their happy days together baking sweets and tweaking recipes, but never once did Palmon receive the empty gaze of failed recognition. A gaze she had turned on her son several times. It had created a quiet envy in the boy, and an even quieter selfish, guilty pride in Palmon.

_It's so easy…_

She had been with Mimi longer than anyone but her parents. While even the chosen children grew apart to create their own lives, she had remained at her side, close to her always, and Mimi's unfailing recognition was her prize. And she selfishly guarded the memory of the last time Mimi spoke to anyone.

" _Palmon…" she had slurred. Clarity or no, her speech was slow and horrible in the effort it required. "How did your experiment go?"_

_Palmon's vines clenched. It never got easier to do this…To recall exactly what Mimi was recalling and know she was mentally residing in a period of her life she no longer physically inhabited. Palmon's experiment had occurred decades ago, in the name of their first cookbook._

" _It went well..."_

_It hadn't. Palmon had been clumsy and spilled an entire shaker of cinnamon into the mix._

_Mimi smiled brightly. "Really? We'll have to taste it and take it down later. Oh, I bet it'll be delicious."_

_It hadn't. Mimi had tasted that cake and she had been unable to taste anything else for days afterward. Palmon had been extremely careful with her spices from then on._

_They sat in silence for a while after. Palmon had gotten used to those; had come to cherish them. When Mimi said nothing, Palmon could pretend anything she wanted. That Mimi's stay in the hospital wasn't permanent. That she was improving. That she was dying of some kinder disease._

" _Take my digivice, Palmon."_

_It was a strange, clear request._

" _What?"_

_No answer came. The silence resumed, only to be interrupted when Mimi suddenly burst into tears._

" _I can't leave!" she bawled. "Palmon never said goodbye to me!"_

_Palmon didn't know if she had a heart. Certainly, she had nothing in her chest that beat, but at that moment something inside of her seemed to pull in two different directions, and it ached terribly. Mimi occasionally recalled feelings and instances that made sense in the current situation, as if she were trapped in her past, trying to communicate with the present by choosing what pieces of it she could._

" _I'm here," Palmon said, her voice breaking in time with the heart she didn't have. "I'm here, Mimi."_

_Mimi was genuinely surprised and genuinely happy to see her through the tears. It was the exact same expression she had used when Palmon had come running after the bus, shouting her apologetic goodbye. She reached out and embraced Palmon with what strength her frail, bony arms could muster, and cried into her petals. Her sobs were loud, sloppy words that made no sense, and Palmon had cried as well. She understood. Somewhere in there, between the holes corroding everything she was, Mimi knew she had to say goodbye._

_Before Mimi let her leave, she placed her hat over Palmon's head. "Until we meet again, then."_

_Palmon used to wonder if her partner's memories were re-written when they so blatantly deviated from the way things had happened. She knew better now. She took the digivice and nestled against Mimi for the last time._

" _I love you, Mimi…"_

_The old woman who had once shared battles and the adventure of life smiled distantly at her but did not respond._

Palmon rolled onto her side and curled into a fetal position around her beloved partner's last cowboy hat. She could almost feel her petals further dehydrating as the weight of their years together compressed her, forcing out what little water she had left.

"Mimi…"

_What have you got to lose…?_

She wept quietly until the tears ran dry. She had absolutely nothing to lose. She would lay here and await the miracle from the digivice buried beneath her. If it failed, it didn't matter. She would die of starvation and go back to primary village. Without Mimi to find her and give her some link to her last life, she would be reborn emptied; free of the memory of her long wait for her one and only partner, and free from the anguish born of helplessly watching her die.

It didn't matter which happened. Not a bit.

She closed her eyes and waited.


	2. Chapter 2

Ichijouji Ken was he next to die, followed very shortly by Ichijouji Miyako.

It began with the latter. Miyako, weakened by the loss of the woman she had admired as a role model for years, and the idea that soon she would be leaving her children and grandchildren as well as Hawkmon, became ill. It wasn't serious, but though the symptoms were mild, she was not recovering.

Ken, whose heart had not aged as gracefully as his mind, became anxious over the possibility of his wife dying. He received a call late one night and had panicked. His panic caused a heart attack, and he died on the way to the hospital. The call had been nothing special or important. When the news reached Miyako, her body gave up. Her illness progressed rapidly, developed into pneumonia, and despite all the doctors tried to do for her, she died.

Hawkmon and Wormmon were both prepared for the deaths of their partners, and dealt with it in only slightly different ways.

Hawkmon put his energy into helping Miyako's youngest daughter take care of her first baby. He would never have children of his own, as a digimon, so he was content to stay in the real world, protecting his partner's legacy for as long as he could. However, without Miyako, he quickly lost the strength to stay in the real world. He resigned himself to a life in the digital world. Though he could not interact with them from there, or perform helpful tasks like babysitting (a task only veteran child-rearing digimon like himself were given, to the envy of the younger partner digimon) he could still talk with them and share his knowledge with them, and to know they were well seemed to be enough for him. 

Wormmon, who was as seasoned as Hawkmon, but too diminutive to be of much help with young children—particularly young girls, who often found him cute but repellant—went back into the digital world immediately following Ken's death. Without a word to anyone, he journeyed to Primary village; where his partner had come back to him, to find him a second time. A new egg occupied the place his at been in that wonderful moment where he was reunited with his gentle, kind Ken after those cold years under the influence of the dark spore.

A gravelly voice interrupted his thoughts. "Certain digimon are kinda happy he's dead."

He turned. It was the caretaker of the village. "Are you?"

The red and purple rabbit digimon chuckled and reached into a basked to stroke the head of a fussy Yuramon. "Hardly. It was forever ago, and he's long since made up for his mistakes. Besides, most every digimon knows what the score was."

"I'm glad. It would break his heart if he knew some hadn't forgiven him."

"Mm… He was a pretty soft character without that spore in him." He gestured widely at the sky. "S'only big, stubborn digimon who don't like humans anyway that still hold the grudge."

A quiet laugh shook Wormmon, taking him by surprise. Ken's funeral had probably occurred only days ago. He hadn't attended because he had learned how the bodies were treated, and the idea of Ken's body being burned to ash was somehow worse than the fact of his death. Having been the only one present the moment Ken died, nobody tried to call him back to the real world for it. His duty was considered done. Still… he hadn't thought he would be laughing so soon. The absurdity just overcame his grief. He was turned inside out in the time it took an ambulance to arrive and drive a mile, but others had not changed in the slightest even after half a century. If he was hearing Elecmon right, only Zhuqiaomon, notorious for his dislike of human presence in the digital world, still held a grudge against the former Digimon Kaiser.

"What's your plan then, kid?"

Elecmon was an old, old digimon compared to Wormmon. He had watched over Primary Village from the beginning, so it was not strange for him to call others children regardless of what level of evolution they were at.

"I…want to be here." He touched the egg in his former spot. "I want to be your assistant."

"Hoho… And why is that?"

He thought it was because he wanted to be in this place, where his most shining memory of Ken was…but he found he had a deeper reason.

"When Ken-chan's son was learning to write," he murmured, stroking the orange-striped shell. "He was very excited by it. He wrote on everything. Nonsense, his alphabet, and any new words he had learned to spell. He was a hassle, and we were always cleaning something he'd scribbled on. But one day Ken-chan found he'd written a message all over their bedroom wall. That he loved cookies and sweet things. That he loved words. That he even loved his older sister, but that they couldn't let her know. Ken-chan and Miyako had to scold him for it, naturally. They tried to wash it off, but in the end they had to paint over it. So they painted and painted, clearing their wall of every message but one. In his most careful attempt at neatness, he wrote that he loved Mama and Papa most of all. They were touched and couldn't paint over it. Instead of painting over it, they painted a piece of paper, and taped it over the message." He laughed, but it was a strained sound. He couldn't remember the warm past painlessly yet. "It was very obvious when you really looked at it, but generally they were able to forget it was there…except when they wanted to look and be reminded."

He turned away from the egg and looked out at the hundreds dotting the hills. "Hawkmon is forgetting by taking care of his partner's descendants in her place. I will forget by taking care of newborn digimon. It's our paper, so we can forget …but still be able to look back when we want to."

Elecmon nodded, a knowing smile spreading. "And?"

"And I think others will choose paint over paper. They will choose to forget entirely and be unable to remember their precious partners at all. I don't intend to scold them for it. All I want is to take care of them on the first step of their new lives."

Elecmon's ear twitched, and he waddled off with a deep chuckle. "No time to sit around flapping our gums, then. Welcome to Primary Village."

* * *

Primary Village was actually an incredibly busy place. Wormmon had never given much consideration to how Elecmon could possibly handle an entire city full of eggs and baby digimon by himself. In reality, most of the protection was handled by thousands of KoDokugumon; tiny, fresh versions of Dokugumon with the attack power of in-training digimon, who would swarm out of nowhere if the village was threatened. There were also regular visitors and volunteers that came from all over to help with general care. They all left, eventually, so it was not quite a metropolis, but it certainly explained why the newborns were some of the most well-informed digimon Wormmon had ever met.

There was a Penmon who wandered down from Freezeland in the north to set up curling games every few months and a troupe of Floramon who came to give dance performances and teach. An Impmon sometimes came around, alternately deciding to bully them—an action which, to Wormmon's amazement, resulted in the baby digimon grouping together and firing bubbles in unheard-of quantities until he behaved—or, more commonly, getting caught up in playing games with them. The Guilmon brothers, very much children themselves, came there to play regularly. They were gentle with the baby digimon, but easily capable of becoming ferocious if their young friends were threatened. Kotemon often gathered there, where they could hold tournaments to hone their skill on other Kotemon while entertaining the infant digimon. Occasionally, even the Deva Antylamon would appear to visit what she called 'The Village of Origin'.

Wormmon came to know them all, and as he hoped, the passage of time and engagement in his duties put distance between himself and the hurt caused by Ken's death. There were always new digi-eggs appearing, always new hatchlings, and a constant stream of in-training digimon boldly stepping out into the world, as well as a trickle that timidly returned, hoping to become stronger before striking out again.

He ceased to dwell on his partner's death.

The gentle days began to blur.


	3. Chapter 3

In the following year, Ishida Yamato died.

He had long since retired as an astronaut, his body unable to handle the rigors of the job. This proved to be a good thing for him. In the prime of their lives, both he and Sora had been dedicated to their work. For Sora, this meant periods of extreme stress during the production of fashion shows. For Yamato, it meant strenuous training and being away from home for years at a time. The distance between them had grown, but the fact that they did love one another never wavered.

Before his death, quiet and content, he had several years to reconnect with her. She still oversaw her fashion line, but it was in the process of being passed on to a new CEO. Both of them had the time to simply be old together.

" _He cherished that," Gabumon told Sora, while they watched the smoke rise into a brilliant autumn sky during his cremation. "He never said it, but he was happy that his family didn't fall apart again."_

_She had laughed airily. "Yamato was Yamato until the end."_

Gabumon had departed very shortly after that, back into the digital world. He began his journey on the cliffs overlooking BlackWarGreymon's seal over Hikarigaoka, Yamato's digivice in his hand. For some time, he merely wandered through the digital world. His intention had been to bury the digivice and see if the rumors were true, but the more he wandered, looking for a good place to do it, the more he realized he didn't really want or need to.

It surprised him, but he wasn't mourning as hard as he thought he would be. Naturally, he was sad. How could he not be? But it was a quiet sorrow. He had watched his partner grow old, and though his family wasn't without its dysfunctions, there was also a lot of love there. Gabumon had been a part of that for over fifty years, and somehow that was so much more prominent in his mind than the loss. He was happy with the lifetime he'd had with Yamato.

But then, where was he to go, and what should he do when he got there? Those who preferred to forget were the only ones who escaped having to deal with such a query. It was the question of all digimon who wanted to hold onto their memories and continue into what was now referred to as 'the life after'.

Gabumon was at a loss, so he sought the one digimon he knew who found himself a stable location and something to occupy his time after his partner's death.

* * *

"Wormmon…?"

The insect digimon looked up from the sleeping YukimiBotamon he was tending. Gabumon had spied several Wormmon on his travels, but just as animals of the same species could be told apart by the trained eye, he knew exactly which Wormmon he was dealing with, and Wormmon recognized him as well.

"Yamato-san?" he asked expectantly.

Gabumon lowered his eyes and shook his head, and was grateful when Wormmon skipped asking how it had happened.

"How is Sora-san?"

"Brave," Gabumon sighed. "She is brave. Mourning him at every turn, but she isn't crumbling the way…" He blushed, noting the lack of tact he had nearly employed.

"The way Miyako did," Wormmon finished, unoffended. "That's good. Her weak bones are about all that's wrong with her, so at least we don't have to worry." He walked forward, signaling Gabumon to follow him to where they could speak without disturbing any sleeping infants. "How long has it been…?"

"Since Ken died? Fourteen or fifteen months." Gabumon looked out across the egg-dotted landscape. "Taichi-san is somewhere in our world, you know."

Wormmon's antennae stood in alarm. "But he's so old! It's dangerous!"

"Perhaps, but Agumon is with him. Nobody has heard from either of them, but I'm sure if Taichi-san died, Agumon would let Hikari-san and the others know."

"True, I suppose…" The insect digimon shuffled uncomfortably in the silence. "So why are you here?"

"…Have you heard that rumor about the digivices?"

"The memorial garden rumor? Are you going to plant Yamato's digivice?"

"Did you? Is everything they say about it true?"

Wormmon snorted but it dissolved into an easy chuckle; one he'd picked up from Elecmon. "I didn't hear until long after I'd settled in here." An egg popped open nearby, and he approached the basket calmly. "I was curious what would appear in Ken-chan's garden…but I don't think I need to see him again. It would only make me miss him more."

The freshly born digimon looked up at Wormmon and Gabumon sleepily. "Chi…chos…?"

The name disrupted their conversation, stopping both of them cold. The newborn was a Zurumon and Wormmon's wary expression was a hint to their general nature. Zurumon were born virus types prone to mischief, and they were occasionally mean-spirited little things. This one was absent of the suspicion-rousing sneer most of them had. It was staring at them with glassy eyes.

Wormmon understood that he and Gabumon were forming the link between the young digimon's former and current lives, and didn't move an inch. He had seen partial returns of memory, and more often than not, they ended poorly.

"Chichos," it repeated dreamily. And like that, it snapped into place. "Wormmon! Gabumon!"

Gabumon tilted his head. "Who are you?"

The infant launched itself into them from its basket, bawling uncontrollably. "Chichos! Chichos is—!"

Wormmon's eyes lit with recognition. "Gotsumon…?"

Gabumon was still lost. He had seen many Gotsumon in his life. "What Gotsumon?"

"You remember," said Wormmon. "Chichos' partner, when we were at the Mayan ruins!"

The little yellow blob nodded vigorously. "Chichos…died!"

Wormmon sighed softly, and lifted the infant onto his back. Former Gotsumon or no, right now it was just a Zurumon. "I'm sorry we made you remember. You died in the hopes that you could forget, right?"

"Who would do that!" it squealed indignantly. "I didn't mean to, but she died and I… I went to sleep one night and in the morning I didn't have any strength. I didn't want to die. How could I want to forget Chichos…? But I couldn't even move, and eventually I must have just… Please believe me; I didn't mean to…"

Wormmon shushed the young, distraught digimon. "You're not alone. Humans sometimes die when their loved ones do too. Right, Gabumon?"

Gabumon nodded distantly, a blush creeping into his cheeks. He wasn't exactly comfortable with being included in the conversation. He hadn't even come close to being so emotional, especially not in front of others. Even seeing Wormmon and the freshly reborn Gotsumon and listening to them… He had the feeling he was eavesdropping on a moment of empathy that was both very private and very sentimental; something he shouldn't have been invited into.

Zurumon sniffled. "Now that I'm here… Now that I remember, I still don't know what it is I should do… I feel tired just trying to figure out what I should do without her…"

Wormmon laughed softly. "You're tired because you're a baby digimon and you were crying so hard."

"He's right," Gabumon said. "You may have your memories as Gotsumon, but you're Zurumon right now. If you need something to do, focus on becoming Gotsumon again."

"What do I do when I become Gotsumon?"

Gabumon paused. So, _that_ was it… _That_ was what he shared that entitled him to a place in this conversation. He smiled and shrugged softly. "By then, you'll be strong enough to cross the digiworld and think about that for yourself."

The little digimon was quiet, and the two child digimon walked back to his basket to put him down for what was probably a much-needed nap. When he was tucked in, they began to tiptoe away.

"Thank you!" it cried after them, audibly on the verge of more tears. "Thank you for being here!"

Wormmon smiled, and the gentle sparkle of validation and purpose in his eyes did not escape Gabumon's notice. The insect digimon had found more than just an occupation to fill his time in the life after. He had found his happiness, his home, and his reason to be.

"Do you want to stay here?" Wormmon asked.

"Maybe." Gabumon reached into his fur and squeezed Yamato's digivice in his palm. "There's something I think I need to do before I make any decisions."

* * *

Dragon Eye Lake had changed very little since Gabumon last saw it.

Telephone poles still jutted nonsensically out of it, channeling electrical signals that defied real world laws of conductivity. The island in the center had shrunk and was closer to the western shore. Seadramon had long since undergone a successful digivolution and made his way to the wider, wilder waters of the Net Ocean. Without him, it was a haven for child-level water digimon. Betamon, Gomamon, and Crabmon were scattered around, but they stayed well out of his way, and for the most part, they were quiet.

Gabumon was grateful for the illusion of solitude. He brushed his claws across the dead screen of the digivice in his hand. He couldn't remember why he ever intended to plant it. Was he like Wormmon, curious about what would appear in his partner's garden, but disinterested in actually seeing Yamato again? His heart told him nothing. The only thing he knew was that something inside him continually whispered, _"Let it go."_

He reared his arm back and hurled the digivice out over the waters of Dragon Eye Lake.

It bounced along the surface of the water like a pebble, traveling further out than Gabumon could have hoped to throw it.

The moment it was out of sight, Gabumon's eyes welled with tears. His empty hand remained outstretched, as though he could somehow undo his action. The digivice was gone and seeing it go helped him finally understand his problem. It wasn't that he was content or at peace. Those things were for the wise, and Gabumon found himself woefully ignorant of his own feelings. All this time, he'd failed to understand the idea that Yamato was gone. He'd been wandering around so uncertainly, feeling peaceful with the memories of his life with Yamato because he was still waiting for Yamato to reappear.

But just like the digivice, Yamato was no longer at his side, and time would not rewind to undo either fact. All the digivice left was the sensation of heat dissipating from the space it had occupied. Yamato left a hole filled with memories that were already fraying at the edges, and Gabumon knew they would continue to unravel forever. Someday even the memory of the harmonica Yamato played when he wanted to say how much he cared but couldn't, would come apart at the seams and be forgotten.

Gabumon let his arm fall back to his side and sat heavily. The warmth of the digivice had dissipated. He couldn't remember what it felt like in his hand.

He wailed at the sky; hopelessly and gutturally and without a care for who heard.


	4. Chapter 4

_"What happens when humans die, Takeru?"_

_Takeru had sighed. "There are as many theories as there are books on shelves."_

_Patamon had tilted his head, unable to understand. Only dimly had he grasped that all the black-clothed people present were not only grieving because Takeru's mother was gone, but because there was no way of knowing what was happening to her after death. For a digimon, who knew its life was an unending cycle of ever-recompiling data, it was hard to envision death as the sudden halt and impassible wall it was for humans._

Now that Takeru was dead, Patamon thought he understood.

There was a hollow where he used to be in Patamon's world, and it seemed there was a constant empty wind flowing out of it. He had thought he would leave immediately when Takeru died, but he didn't. He stayed for the funeral and remained in the empty apartment alone. He was certain that if he left, the hollow would grow, and devour him entirely. The first night after Takeru's cremation, Patamon dreamed of that hollow. It was massive, deep, and impenetrably gloomy, pulling at him like the vortex where the creatures of darkness were imprisoned in the digital world's Net Ocean. He was sure he could hear things whispering from it, but he didn't understand them. He wanted to escape, but without Takeru he was alone.

Tiny, voiceless, and unable to run.

The whispering voices were crying. They were all his. All howling the same thing: _"Where did you go…?"_

Every night after, he dreamed the same dream, while in the day he watched the things that used to be Takeru's disappear. His family sorted out his affairs, and the apartment he lived in was slowly husked out. The furniture where they spent their days lounging and napping was sold. The computer with all the things Takeru had idly written between his to-be-published works, like a child doodling in the margins of their schoolwork, was given to his son. And the books…The endless sources of entertainment and inspiration for Takeru were packed into plain boxes, the last thing to be removed.

All through the nights, the hollow moaned and sighed. " _Where did you go…?"_

He woke to the sound of the door opening. He knew it would be Takeru's son, but the first thing he saw was Tailmon.

"What are you doing here?" he asked dully.

At some point, he had perched on one of the boxes before falling asleep, and she looked up at him with her unreadable eyes. "I came to check on you. Once these boxes are gone, the apartment will be empty. You're going to weaken if you stay here much longer."

That was true. He felt sleepy despite the high morning sun coming in through the barren windows. Hawkmon had remained for weeks before needing to leave. Was it that dreams that had him so exhausted? 

"Why did I stay here watching all of these things that used to mean something to him be taken away?" His voice came out a heavy croak. "It's not like he was in any of them… He's gone..."

"You won't go back to Primary Village if you die in this world, Patamon." Her eyes moved beyond him, to the window. "You'll become another ghost."

She was still as blunt as ever…but that meant she was worried about him, didn't it? "I don't want to die. I'm not trying to die..." Tears popped out onto his cheeks in big rolling droplets. "I want to live and never forget him...!"

Her ears drooped, and she smiled with relief and sympathy. "I'm glad. But you know that means you can't stay. What are you still doing here?"

"I keep having a strange nightmare..."

Her tail ring chimed. "Nightmare?"

"I dream of a hole. A big, dark hole like the one in the Net Ocean. It tries to pull me in, and I can't get away. I can't speak, even though I want to call out for Takeru. My voice comes out of it…asking where he's gone…"

Silence answered him. Tailmon was staring at him with concern, but her tail was bristling, and she had curled her paws into fists. It had been so long since he had seen her ready to fight that even such small cues jumped out at him. Because it was her, he understood why. He had the potential of an angel digimon in him, just like she did. And the price of having access to holy power was susceptibility to corruption. It had happened to Lopmon, and he was in danger of having it happen to him. Whether it was because he was a simple personality or because of his grief, it hadn't crossed his mind at all. Tailmon's reaction made his situation very clear.

He forced himself to stand, and leaped down from his cardboard perch. "I'm going to the digital world."

"What will you do there?" she demanded.

"I'm not going to give in. I promise." He hesitated. "But, just in case…" He held out his paw to her. "Don't let me hurt anyone…?"

Her mouth jerked into a bitter grimace, but she accepted his paw. "Good luck."

* * *

Patamon resolved to find a way to recover and stay strong, but like all digimon in the life after, he had little idea of what to do or how to save himself. The rumors and whispers of a digital world filled with orphaned partners were not lost on him. He was uncertain; afraid that by giving in to the desire to see his partner again he might be somehow giving in to the swirling chasm that haunted his sleep, but in the end he buried his digivice. There were no results for several days. He waited patiently, enduring his dreams as best he could.

One night the dreams didn't come and he woke to Takeru's face; the one he had as a young man who had only recently become a father. Out of nowhere, he had simply appeared, as real as Patamon himself. A tiny garden of pages and pens had surrounded them overnight.

It took another day for Takeru to open his eyes, but he did not respond to anything outwardly. Patamon could only communicate with him by reading the pages flowering up around them. Then Takeru began to speak. At first, they were mere slivers of things that he had said in the past, but as the days piled on, he soon became thoughtful and able to answer dynamically. The contents of the pages grew complex, expanding to encompass more than just Takeru's thoughts on what Patamon was saying. He no longer needed them…but Patamon continued to read, even while he spoke with the shade of his partner.

They talked about nothing. And about everything. Sometimes Takeru appeared in his young and childish form and they fought. Sometimes he was an older man and they talked idly of life and happiness and nostalgic things. It was blissful, but Patamon knew he could not use it as a crutch forever. No day passed when he didn't consider what it was he should do when he uprooted the digivice.

He read the pages of Takeru's garden, looking for some hint. In life, he wanted to help Takeru achieve his dreams. Why should that not be what he did now?

"Are you having trouble reading again?"

Patamon's ears twitched and he looked up in surprise. For some reason, Takeru did not appear before him as an adolescent very often, but today was one of those rare days. Most of the things growing in the garden were susceptible to sudden changes depending on how old Takeru appeared to be, and no other arrangements were ever quite as vivid as the one summoned by his adolescent self. Fallen spires, broken dark rings, and shards of the things they defeated—Vamdemon's mask, the Digimon Kaiser's glasses, and Devimon's wings—were scattered around like mulch. From them grew strong flowers, some full of light, some merely blossoming with schoolwork, others still blossoming with timeworn shreds of a family photo. Here and there, seedlings sprouted; their tips showing just the tiniest bits of blank paper, their stems made of plastic with flowing ink inside.

The biggest plant there was a flower of brilliant light. Familiar pink hairclips grew from the young buds closer to the ground. An unceasing, distant echo of ocean waves surrounded it and the shadow it cast seemed to flow and gather around it like a moat. HolyAngemon's sword, off of which hung Takeru's crest, seemed to be warding those shadows away.

Had he ever thought that there were so many things in Takeru's world at that time? He would stake his wings that he knew Takeru better than anyone, but the naked presentation of it…the meaningful nature of every single detail was intense even for Patamon.

"I shouldn't have done this. I feel like I'm reading your diary."

Takeru laughed.

It washed over Patamon like it always did; so real it hurt. The first time Takeru had smiled, Patamon knew he wasn't some ghostly afterimage of his partner. It was him. His memory. His feelings. His mannerisms. There wasn't a single thing that was distinguishable from the real thing.

Except he wasn't.

Patamon had been warned against telling the 'fake' otherwise, but he suspected that this Takeru knew he wasn't the real thing anyway, and existed as something else. He couldn't leave the garden and didn't seem to want to pursue the things he would have in the real world. Every day was a lazy Saturday afternoon to him, and instead of going to movies with friends or visiting his family, he spent much of his time in a sleep so deep and serene that it even lacked his usually energetic snoring. He was something human in everything but fact, like a lucid dream. The _idea_ of Takeru, correct in every detail down to the unconscious tilt at the corners of his mouth as he gazed at the brightly shining flower which could be nothing his adolescent idea of Hikari.

"You've gotten better you know," said Takeru.

"At what?"

"Reading." He pointed to the words on the page Patamon was holding. "You would never have been able to read a word like onomatopoeia by yourself before."

Patamon blushed, but his chest puffed up with pride. "I feel like I could read through all of your hard books now. You've helped me learn a lot." He smiled sadly. "About lots of things…"

Takeru tilted his head. "What's wrong?"

He twiddled his paws. He was hesitant to discuss death with this Takeru. Time and sequence did not always make sense. Sometimes his childhood form talked about things from his adulthood, while other times he was confused when Patamon mentioned Wormmon and Ken. He was worried that just by mentioning death it would somehow make this Takeru aware of his death and break the spell.

"Someday…" he began carefully. "Someday you'll be gone, Takeru… I'm not very brave or very strong without you, so I don't know what I'll do. What if I'm so sad that I become corrupted?"

"I don't think that will happen to you." Takeru placed his white bucket hat playfully over Patamon's serious face. "You're very strong, in your own way. If you get scared, just remember me."

"But then when I die, you'll be entirely forgotten!"

Takeru pulled Patamon into his arms and looked up at the brilliant sky of the digital world. "Don't be silly. I'm not so important that I should be remembered forever. It's fine if the people I love remember me. If anything should be remembered forever, it's what we fought for." He nestled down, leaning his cheek against Patamon's head. "I'll definitely… write a book about it…"

He was falling asleep again. His wheat-colored hair was spilling over Patamon's face, obscuring everything else. This boy _would_ write a book; had already written it and given the real world their story. There was no reason the digiworld shouldn't have it too.

Patamon shook softly and felt tears roll from his eyes.

"Are you crying, Patamon…?"

Patamon nodded.

"Why…?"

"Because... I know what I have to do. And I think that means it's time for me to go."

"We'll see each other again…"

But they wouldn't, this time. Not ever again. 

Takeru was already asleep, with the slightest of smiles. He looked perfectly at peace there, asleep in the garden of his own memories; young and full of hope for a future that had come and gone.

Patamon closed his eyes. To be brave was to do something in spite of fear. Or of sadness. So he whispered, with all the bravery in his small heart.

"Goodbye... Takeru."


	5. Chapter 5

Tailmon smiled at the chipper looking digimon waving at her on the screen. "You're looking much better, Patamon."

He grinned. "I promised you I'd be okay."

"Have you decided on what you're going to do?"

"I'm going to build a library," he said proudly. "I don't know what I'll fill it with yet, but my first job is going to be making a copy of Takeru's book on our adventure in digicode. That way everyone in the digital world can read it."

Her tail swayed, and she nodded approvingly. "A book is probably your best bet to make sure he's remembered."

"It's not for that. I got to spend a few days with him…and we did a lot of talking… Transcribing the book for digimon is so that the digital world remembers all of us, and what we fought for. It's so even if I die…I might forget him, but others will read it and remember to have hope."

Tailmon's smile disappeared. "You _saw_ Takeru? And _spoke_ to him?"

"Yes?" He tilted his head at her. "Have you not heard about the digivice trick? You bury it and you can see your partner again."

"See them again?" She glared. "Old and in pain?"

"No! Takeru was young and…he was happy. A lot of digimon do it."

Her mounting alarm subsided, but only a little. "What about now? Where is he? Still in your digivice?"

"I don't know, actually." The child digimon looked away from the screen, up at the sky. "When I figured out that I wanted to transcribe the book I knew it was time for me to say goodbye to him, but when I did, the whole garden just disappeared. I tried digging for the digivice, but that was gone too. It was really surprising." He pouted. "I was intending to keep it as a memento, too..."

She smiled crookedly at him, attempting to hold in a laugh at his childishness. "I hadn't heard of this, but I guess it ends well enough there. I'm glad for you, Patamon. I'll bring you the book personally."

"What? But Hikari-chan is still alive! Spend your time with her!"

"You're sweet, but Hikari's health is stable and I'm a cat. Hikari is used to me wandering off sometimes. That and Taichi is in the digiworld somewhere. It'll be nice if I hear some gossip about where he is that I can bring back to her."

Patamon smiled. "Even in old age, he's still her nii-chan, huh? Alright, I'll meet you at Primary Village."

Tailmon waved and put the computer to sleep. From the seat, she climbed onto the desk and looked up at the shelf over Hikari's bed. With a readying wiggle, she leaped up and landed lightly in the thin layer of dust. Hikari didn't clean up there as often anymore. Tailmon would be sure to do it when she got home. She leaped to the floor with a light thud, Hikari's digivice in hand.

"Tailmon?" Hikari called. "Are you alright?"

The cat digimon scampered into the living room. "Yes, I'm fine."

Hikari smiled from her medical bed. Renal failure had taken hold of her some years back. She was well within the acceptable age range for receiving a transplant, but she had insisted with a gentle smile that she had never been the healthiest person and it would be better for organs to go to someone younger. So instead of surgery, she received dialysis in her own home. Really, it hadn't had much of an effect on her. When she was out of the bed, she was the same as any other woman her age; maybe even a little _too_ energetic. Even now she was typing away at her laptop with her spare hand.

"Was that Patamon?" she asked.

Tailmon nodded. "He's decided what he wants to do with his life after."

"That's good news. I'll be sure to pass that along to Sora. She's not doing too bad, you know. Mourning, but not fading away like Miyako did when Ken died."

Tailmon hopped up onto the bed, and sat on the empty armrest. "Are you lonely, Hikari?"

Hikari smiled wistfully. "Without Miyako, Ken, and Takeru? They were my best friends. I miss them dearly... but I'm not lonely. You're here, after all. But what about you?" She nodded at her digivice, resting in Tailmon's gloved paw. "Were you feeling nostalgic after talking to Patamon?"

She squinted at the digivice, curious but not without her suspicions. "No, there's just something I want to confirm with my own eyes."

"Ah, so you're leaving the house and you're worried about me is all." She giggled. "Well, that's good. I'll be fine."

"Hikari..."

Hikari pressed a finger against her nose and ruffled Tailmon's ears. "You may have been born for me, Tailmon... But I'll be very happy if you chase your own dreams when I'm gone."

"Then... I'll be home soon. I promise."

Tailmon ran off, leaving Hikari to lay back in contentment. "It's good that digimon learn to handle the affairs of digimon..."


	6. Chapter 6

It was a quiet night. Breezy, but unmistakably early autumn. A strange, rusty smell was in the air.

Piyomon was breathing heavily, her claws clamped down on a box.

Sora avoided chocolate. She liked it too rich and decadent to make a habit of snacking on it. When she was in a good mood and wanted to treat herself, she went to a convenience store for strawberry pocky.

The box that Piyomon was gripping so tightly that her claws were gouging the street.

The bird digimon could not recall why she was standing there, breathing so raggedly. Her body hurt. Had she raced Sora across the street? No, she was still standing in the middle of it.

She looked to her left. A spattering of people standing there wide-eyed. People weren't afraid to go out at night so much. There were a few delinquents with trouble making digimon, but they liked to make trouble in busy places. Inner-city Tokyo…Shinjuku…not quiet little suburbs like this. Places like this had flashers in the old days, but most of those were gone too.

A child started to cry.

She looked right. A family stood together in the glow of the convenience store light. Ah, Daddy had dropped the ice cream. Pick it up before it melts, she wanted to say. An older sister was comforting her younger brother. A ToyAgumon and ClearAgumon were in a messy pile of blocks beside them. They tended to fall apart when they were surprised.

What had surprised them? What was that rusty smell…?

Something hissed in front of her, and she looked at it dreamily. A car?

It was quite a mess. The hood was disfigured and smoke was rising out of it. The windshield had a neat hole melted into it. The driver side door was open wide; so wide that it was off its hinges, touching the front wheel.

 _I see!_ Piyomon thought cheerfully. _This car must have almost hit Sora, and I got in the way._

She rubbed at her beak, unwittingly smearing blood on it, suddenly sheepish and embarrassed in light of the damage she'd caused. "Ah, this is pretty chaotic. Maybe I just don't know my own strength since I haven't fought in such a long time. But, at least no one was hurt. Right, Sora?"

She turned, scraping the box of pocky along the ground, her grip on it merciless and unrelaxed.

The road was dark where it shouldn't have been. Sora was on the ground, her body twisted nonsensically across the pedestrian crossing. Some distance from her, the mangled shape of a man, his clothes shredded in distinct (stop it) three-deep parallel tears. Too wide for any (please, stop it) regular animal, and too similar in depth and spacing to the gouges left in the road where she was standing.

Piyomon covered her ears. "STOP IT!"

Sora was feeling good. She was laughing cheerfully. Looking at the last picture of herself and Yamato was no longer painful for her. She had recovered. She was going to spend her last few years with Piyomon.

They went out for pocky. Strawberry pocky that Sora loved, and that Piyomon loved, and that Yamato said he loved even though he favored chocolate more. Sora dropped the box. Sora went back for the box. It was _their_ light.

It was their light, but Piyomon heard the unmistakable sound of brakes stuttering to a halt, and the unforgettable sequence of muted snaps as Sora's weak bones succumbed.

A rambling voice. Indignant. Self-important. An engine growling back to life.

What came after?

She didn't know. The memory was a blank sea of static.

"Sora…" She reached out her wing and quickly yanked it back.

There was blood on it; on both of them. It was on her beak, and all over her talons. All over the innocent box of pocky.

"No…"

A siren blared in the distance.

"NOOOOO!"

* * *

Palmon hummed to herself, merrily swinging her arms and twirling as she inspected the edges of the garden of lilies, hats, and sweets. She plucked a cowboy hat and set it on her head. It was hot out on the Gear Savannah again today.

"Pal…mon?"

She turned. "Piyo—?" The words froze on her tongue.

Piyomon was filthy, disoriented, and there were still red smudges where blood hadn't washed out of her feathers. She held a crumpled box of strawberry pocky in one hand. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her stare was as vast as the Net Ocean.

Palmon took the hat from her head and stood firmly. "Sora is gone, isn't she?"

Piyomon jerked, and tears spilled down her dirty cheeks. "It was… _our_ light. He shouldn't have hit her..."

Palmon's eyes lit with sympathy. Mimi's death had been slow and terrible, while Sora's had happened suddenly and violently. She could not decide which was worse.

For the first time in nearly two years, she stepped out of the garden to wrap her arms around her distraught friend. "Oh, Piyomon…"

The bird digimon sagged into the embrace, wailing pitifully. "She was finally recovering…! She was supposed to be alright for a few more years…!"

"Shhh," Palmon cooed. "It'll all be okay; I promise. Do you have Sora's digivice?"

Piyomon shook her head, bowing in shame. "I hurt somebody so I ran away..."

"Ah... so you can't go back... Well, how about I go back and get it for you?"

Piyomon tilted her head. "Why would I want the digivice?"

Palmon grinned and skipped back into her partner's garden. "Mi~mi!"

The girl showed up out of nowhere like a ghost and smiled brightly. She was wearing her adolescent form, and she seemed very excited to see Piyomon. Palmon leaped, swinging merrily around her partner's waist.

"See," she cheered. "If you have the digivice, you can see Sora again! If you stay here so Mimi doesn't get lonely, I'll go get it for you."

Something in the back of Piyomon's mind resisted. Something was wrong. But her grief was too fresh, and too overwhelming. She bowed deeply, as Sora had taught her was proper Japanese etiquette.

"Please get Sora's digivice for me!"

* * *

V-mon heard the news and passed it to Armadimon. Armadimon passed it to the only digimon in the life after that could be contacted easily: Hawkmon. Hawkmon took the journey to Primary Village to tell Wormmon. Wormmon took a temporary leave to travel to Infinity Mountain, where Patamon was setting up the foundations of his library with the help of a few Drimogemon and the knowledgeable Digitamamon.

Together, they climbed the to where Tailmon had quietly resided for nearly two months now; only occasionally leaving to be sure Hikari was doing well.

"What are you two doing up here?" she called down to them. "It's dangerous!"

Wormmon jumped from Patamon's back, and the pair landed in front of the surprised cat digimon. "Bad news! Sora-san was hit by a car a few days ago!"

Tailmon rubbed at her eyes. "So she's dead too… But why did both of you come to tell me this?"

"Piyomon attacked the driver! By the time the news got to Hawkmon he died in the hospital!"

Tailmon's ears shot up. " _What_? Where is she now?"

"She ran from the scene. We think she's on the run in the digital world right now, but we don't know where!"

"Alright." Her tail whipped side to side. She started to pace unconsciously. "Alright. Piyomon would only go to so many places for shelter. Unless she ran off to Server Continent, she'd probably head for the Pyocomon Village. Head there, I'll be with you in a little bit."

The two digimon nodded and descended the mountain at a glide. Tailmon turned to a crack in the mountain face. Sure that no one was looking, she squeezed inside of it.

A shaft of light from an exit higher up melted down into a garden of whistles, goggles, and brightly glowing feathers. They climbed up the walls, bright white like the forming egg of an angel, and when the breeze stirred them, the whistles all sang quietly. In the center of it, Hikari sat, as young as Tailmon had ever known her.

"Sora is dead," she said matter-of-factly. "A car hit her, and Piyomon no doubt went berserk and attacked the driver before she even realized what she'd done."

Hikari frowned. "Everyone loves their partner, but Piyomon's love was special even with that bond. They did have the crest of love, after all. Do you think she'll…?"

"Naturally." Tailmon closed her eyes. "Piyomon is probably…frightened by Sora's death and her actions. She's an honest digimon who knows she has done a bad thing, but she needs forgiveness and closure from Sora before she'll calm down and accept responsibility for her actions back in the real world."

"I wish I could help you somehow…"

Tailmon's ear drooped. "I feel bad when you say things like that, Hikari."

The child held her hands up, waving them emphatically. "No, no! Don't feel bad! I'm not real."

"I thought so too when I planted you here." She scooted closer, sitting beside her. "But you're a lot more real than I thought." She touched the spot where the digivice was buried. "You're not technically Hikari …but you aren't less than Hikari either. I don't think you would age no matter how long I left you here, but it doesn't mean you aren't changing and growing like a human child."

Hikari smiled and leaned against her partner. "Have I helped you any?"

Tailmon nodded. "I'm not Koushiro, but I think I have you figured out. After talking with you for so long and telling you that you're not exactly you… It makes me sad…" She looked up. "You're definitely her in every way it matters…so you must have been scared all the times I left you by yourself."

"It's okay. I'm not really dead, so you were worried about the real me."

"You're not less real. That's what makes this so frustrating…" Her tail whipped against the ground. "I have to take you back to the real world, but…how can I do something that might hurt you?"

Hikari grinned warmly. "You know I don't feel pain." She touched her chest. "I don't get hungry, or need to go to the bathroom. I didn't get lonely or scared until I understood I wasn't real, and I probably wouldn't have considered I wasn't real for a long time if not for you. Even now... I don't think about my school or my friends…not mama or papa or even Taichi. I don't miss them. I'm...content to be here in my garden. I might be Hikari in every way it matters to you, but I'm not really her." 

"I suppose..."

She reached down and pulled the digivice from the ground. In her hands, nothing happened. "You're strong, Tailmon. I don't think you'll need me when I really die so…" Her laugh was gentle and self-conscious. "It's silly, but… Could you tell me if I grew up well?"

Tailmon smiled bittersweetly and placed her paw over the digivice. "You did. Splendidly."

The whistles blew together one last time, and the feathers broke from their stems and disappeared into the air. The bright glow of data swirled around and converged quietly on the digivice left in Tailmon's hand. When it settled, she was alone with the single shaft of light. A single glowing butterfly danced in it and landed at her feet.

"I understand," Tailmon said softly. "I do. It's to help us grieve. But I haven't lost my partner and I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the conflict in my loyalties right now. Isn't this much indulgence dangerous…?"

The butterfly fluttered once and flew away.


	7. Chapter 7

Tailmon flexed her paws. Behind her, her tail flicked nervously, rattling her holy ring.

According to Patamon, it was nearly three weeks before Takeru could even hold a meaningful conversation with him, but Hikari had taken little more than ten days. If Piyomon had said anything about the real Sora's death, the Sora created in the garden would probably develop as quickly. She had let the matter alone for weeks now, hoping to give Piyomon the time she needed. If too much time passed and Piyomon realized just how real the other Sora was, she might be afraid to let her go for fear of hurting her. If too little time had passed, Piyomon might fight them.

Tailmon didn't want either of those things to happen. She wanted their approach to fall in that slim space where Piyomon was both at peace and still secure that the garden Sora was nothing more than a pleasant illusion.

"You don't have to come with me." Patamon and Wormmon frowned. They had journeyed to the Pyocomon village with her and she knew they had every intention of being at her side. "If this goes poorly, I'm the best suited to deal with it."

"We can be your support," Patamon protested. "You're an adult level, but that doesn't mean you should go alone."

"Actually, I meant that neither of you has ever fought other digimon without your partners." Her eyes slid away from them. "Dirtily."

"Dirtily? I've never known you to fight dirty."

"It was a long time ago," Patamon said quickly. There was enough going on without opening that whole can of worms. "We promise to hang back. But we're all chosen digimon and we're Piyomon's friends. We should be there for her."

"That's true…" She turned her gaze out over the bright sands of the Gear Savannah. "Alright. Let's get there quickly then."

* * *

From the slopes of Miharashi Mountain, Agumon could see over most of the Gear Savannah. The former wasteland had undergone a wild change in plant life, and he could no longer see the giant patterns in the earth for which the area was named. The Pyocomon village was still visible, a speck in the last bastion of southwestern desert. A sea of green marched toward it, and the smell of flowers was thick, even on the mountain.

"Tiger lilies…"

Taichi was seated on the ground, staring at the scenery beside him. Like Hikari, he was still full of vigor despite his age and strong from a life of going back and forth between the worlds. Of course, that didn't change the fact that he was old and fragile and no longer suited for the life of high adventure in the digiworld. And yet he had come over a year ago and had never returned home. He never said it aloud, but Agumon knew he intended to die there.

"You can see them, Taichi?"

Taichi laughed. "With these old eyes? No." The smile faded, leaving his watery eyes distantly, painfully nostalgic. "But this smell is definitely the bouquet that Sora held on the day Mimi was cremated. She put the same flowers on the grave the year after too."

"So that's… a partner's garden?"

"That's definitely _Mimi's_ garden. It must have been here ever since she died."

"Taichi, that's…!"He paused to count on his claws. "That's almost three years! No digimon has ever kept a garden anywhere near that long!"

"Looks like something interesting has been happening here while we were on Server continent… Do you think that maybe something happened to Palmon and the garden is untended?"

Agumon scratched at his head. "We've never seen anything like that. Does that mean we should go uproot the digivice?"

"Yeah, I think that's for the best. No telling what'll happen if we just let it spread."

Taichi held up his digivice, and was soon climbing into Greymon's clawed palm. A short coughing fit took him.

Greymon held him up. "You shouldn't push yourself, Taichi…"

"I'm fine. Just the heat."

Greymon considered pointing out to his partner that they were about to go into the desert, but he knew urging caution wouldn't change Taichi's mind. He had only become more stubborn. Greymon let it go and trudged down the mountain at a quick march.

* * *

Piyomon sat beneath the oversized ikebana arrangements that rose from Sora's garden like short, beautiful trees, quietly awaiting the inevitable.

Sora's garden was modest compared to Mimi and Palmon's. Blades of feather-shaped grass carpeted it, colored by the blue and pink color scheme of Piyomon's feathers, with flowers in the red and yellow scheme of Garudamon's feathers. Tiny birds branded with the crest of love sang and chirped and occasionally swarmed around the errant undersized soccer ball, having mock games all by themselves.

Sora herself was elsewhere. Mimi's garden had enveloped theirs on three sides, and the girls often played together. Mimi had the garden with the more frivolous items, so most of the play was done there.

Piyomon was fine with this. She had spent her days well, weeping in Sora's arms before she was aware enough to ask why, and allowing herself to come to terms with her sudden death. She hadn't yet asked for forgiveness…but she knew the time would come soon. She was content to hold onto the undiscarded box of melted strawberry pocky, and garner her courage. Someone would come to find her. To take her back to the real world for her due punishment. And she would go. She would do what was right.

"You look ready."

Piyomon nodded and walked to the edge of the garden, where Tailmon, Wormmon, and Patamon awaited her. She found she was not surprised to see the cat digimon. It seemed only the natural order of things that the one among them who seemed so much older even though she came from the same batch of eggs should be the one to make sure Piyomon would take responsibility.

She looked at their feet. "You're not stepping into the garden…"

"It's your and Sora's space. I don't want to trespass if you're ready to come without a fight."

"…You've known I was here for awhile, haven't you?"

"We've been at the Pyocomon village for two weeks now. We were waiting to give you the time to come to terms with Sora's death properly."

The bird digimon stiffened, and tears started to fall from her eyes like rain. She sniffed loudly. "That's…too considerate. I don't deserve to be treated so kindly."

Patamon stepped forward. "All partner digimon deserve to be able to make peace with the death of their partners."

Wormmon nodded. "This and you hurting a human are two different things. Now that you've accepted one, you must atone for the other."

Piyomon rubbed at her eyes, agreeing eagerly like a penitent child. "Can I...have a moment to say goodbye?"

The trio nodded, and Piyomon turned back into the garden. "Sora!"

Mimi appeared at the edge of her garden with Sora in hand. Both girls were in their high school years today, and it looked like Sora had managed to get Mimi to play a little tennis. She waved at Tailmon, Patamon, and Wormmon as Sora passed back into her own garden.

Sora tucked her tennis skirt modestly and knelt in front of Piyomon. "What's going on? Why the serious faces?"

Piyomon twiddled her claws. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to be mad… I have to leave, Sora."

Sora giggled and ruffled Piyomon's feathers. "Why would I be mad over that?"

"I…have to leave because I hurt a human." The bird digimon bowed her head in shame before the image of her partner. "He hurt you…and before I knew it, I hurt him. But I won't run away! I'm going back to the real world to accept my punishment. I'll…make up for it somehow, I swear. So, please… Please don't hate me, Sora!"

The girl was stunned, but it lasted only a moment. Her eyebrows drew together. "You shouldn't have run away in the first place."

"I know…"

"Before that, you shouldn't have hurt a person even if he hurt me. We're weak, Piyomon. Of course a digimon losing its temper would hurt us, even if it was just a child level!"

Tears dripped down her beak. "I know…"

Sora hugged the bird digimon fiercely. "Of course I'll be mad if you put me in such a helpless position over someone hurting me! I'm fine!"

"But you're not!" The words came out before she could think that she shouldn't. "He killed you Sora! He hit you and killed you, and before I knew it, I killed him!"

The garden went silent as a cemetery.

Even Tailmon's ears shot upright. She had expected this to be weepy affair, but somehow she'd had in mind a more delicate ending to this. Sora had the same look on her face Hikari had. The look of fear and denial and the stirrings of self-awareness.

"I'm…dead?"

"You were killed almost two months ago. I wandered out here and found Palmon and she told me how I could see you again."

"So…Mimi is…?"

"She's dead too, yes. She's been dead for years now."

The entire garden began to shake, while Sora sat still, confused. "Are we ghosts…? Did you really intend to keep me here for years like that?"

Piyomon shook her head desperately. "No! I needed you, Sora… You died so suddenly and I didn't know what to do! So I…called you here so I could have you to myself…for just a little while until someone came to take me back to the real world. That's now."

"What about Mimi? No wonder she's lonely. Why has she been here so long?"

"You would have to ask Palmon, Sora. I can't say I didn't feel strange about how long it's been for her…but I was scared if I said anything, Palmon wouldn't tell me how to see you again."

"Some of the flowers in her garden cry… She's unhappy like this!"

"I didn't know… I can't prolong my stay here, but I promise I won't leave without telling Palmon."

The rumbling slowly faded. After a moment of tense silence, the birds began to sing again. Sora sighed, and gently wiped the tears from Piyomon's eyes. She leaned her forehead against the soft feathers on Piyomon's cheek, but she said nothing. The girl was at a loss for words after so much information.

"Do you hate me, Sora…?"

"I would never, Piyomon. I guess I'm not surprised that you'd call me back, but…" She squeezed her partner. "I'm glad you're going to take responsibility…but I'm worried what they'll do to you."

"I'll do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes, so don't worry about me. You…just say goodbye to me this time."

For the last time, the two found themselves on the same page and smiled fondly at one another.

"I love you, Piyomon."

"Mm. I love you, Sora."

The grasses and flowers lifted from the ground and spiraled into the air in a flurry of pink and blue, and red and yellow. The tiny birds all took flight, singing a gentle, content tune. Sora rose with them and began to fade.

The tiger lilies screamed in unison, their sound reverberating across the Gear Savannah, from Factorial Town to the Forest of Perplexity, and far, far out into the Net Ocean. They shifted forward in a rapid, crawling wave, and enclosed Sora's garden in a single, swift motion.

Sparks flew, and a burst of light temporarily blinded them.

Sora cried out once in agony.

When the light passed, she and her garden were mere specks of data, floating away into the digital world. All that was left behind was an empty hole filled with the sands of the Gear Savannah.

Piyomon walked to where Sora's digivice was buried. She found it scorched to the point that it was still hot in her hand. Its screen was irreversibly shattered.

She turned to Mimi.

The girl still stood at the edge of her garden. Her eyes were wide and frightened. "I…didn't mean it. I just…didn't want her to go…"

There was a thin crackle. The box of pocky Piyomon had held in her shackled talons since the day Sora died erupted in fire.

From above, a single spiral of the light of digivolution descended, but something wasn't quite right. It was the color of magma, and the sky was blackened where it descended, as though its passage was scorching the heavens.

Patamon's heart clenched. He knew this pattern. Wormmon and Tailmon had never seen it, and probably had little idea what they were in for.

This was how Greymon's failed first evolution to Perfect level had begun.


End file.
